Honey and Hemlock
by qdeanna
Summary: I talk about love as if I know what it is.
1. Honey and Hemlock

When he had first arrived at the noble's manor, his footsteps creaked cautiously across the dust cloaked floors, leaving ugly footprints. So he cleaned and cleaned, made sure every surface was spotless, blank, so when he walked, he was a passing ghost who left no trace of his existence.

At least now, the manor suited its ever pristine occupant. Time seemed to be at a standstill around him, so that dust stayed perpetually suspended in the air. Raizel watched the seasons pass from his window, but he himself was forever winter, as silent as snow.

Frankenstein stared at his lonely back from his seat on the couch as if he could will the seasons to transition. After a while, he sighed, then left the room; the house wasn't going to stay clean itself.

Summer into fall into winter, and Frankenstein was starting to become tired of the scenery, tired of seeing his own face reflected on the same surfaces he polished every day. He was initially hesitant to bring in new decor-they would just be another part of him to leave behind when he left-but decided that a reprieve from the droning monotony was worth it.

* * *

Kneeling before his new master, time seemed to stop within Frankenstein. He forgot where he was, forgot how to breathe. It was an endless spring in which all the flowers paled in comparison to the being standing before him, wrapped around him, resting inside of him. Frankenstein was frozen beneath warm waters. He let the ocean flood his lungs, opened his mouth in a silent plea to be full of nothing but Raizel. He wished time really would stop, keep everything else in the world dull and far away. In that moment, Dark Spear and humanity were merely distant echoes, and nothing but Raizel mattered.

It was then that Frankenstein realized Raizel was all the seasons all at once, and they were all beautiful. His soul was an ocean of warm, glittering sand, and when Frankenstein sifted it through his fingers, it caressed his skin like coy cherry blossoms. And the autumn red blood that dyed his hands only looked more tragic against freshly fallen snow.

Frankenstein both consumed and was consumed by something as dangerous and toxic as Dark Spear. It burned him just as much, but these flames were a brilliant red. He threw himself into them, embraced them and ingested them as if he had been starved all his life. He was ruined, but he couldn't care. It forever poisoned his mind and soul in a way Dark Spear never could. It was something thick and sickeningly sweet, something that stained his actions, words, and thoughts. It challenged the very fires of Hell yet rung more beautifully than the choirs of Heaven.

Love.

It was love, Frankenstein realized, and he loved that it was love.

* * *

Neither of them had once said "I love you," because how could words possibly begin to convey how they felt? If Frankenstein tried to convey his affection with just those words, he would have surely gone insane, because even if he repeated them with every breath he took from the moment he was born until he died, it would still not be enough. It was something too grand and sacred to be uttered.

So he made tea and sweets and clothing. Filled Raizel's home-their home-with nice things: flowers, lights, books, the scent of warm food. Filled it with himself, because he never wanted to leave his master even when he was physically away. Frankenstein did not leave footprints or fingerprints, but he had left an impression on the once lonely mansion. A different kind of quiet drifted throughout their home, like joyful ghost children looking into every room they could find only to run away giggling. They were no longer old, tired apparitions with lungs full of dust floating through the hallways, because they had no other way to spend their lonely eternity.

And then, he disappeared. The snow melted, the flowers uprooted, and there was nothing. Frankenstein had filled their home with reminders of himself, but Raizel had left not even a mark on the window sill he stood by year after year. Frankenstein stood by the same window his master stared out of and took in the scenery. There was nothing to see. So he closed his eyes and searched deep within himself for a ghost's whisper, for dust. And he found it. Tucked away in a far corner, the fleeting heartbeat of his master's soul. His master was still there and would return to him eventually. Frankenstein would wait and watch. Spring, summer, fall, winter. Over and over again.

* * *

 _So, I have a fanfiction account now. Not sure how much use it'll get, but this was fun._


	2. High Bloodsugar

It was an all too familiar sound that stirred him awake. He would hear it coming from the depths of their old mansion at night. It was the sound of rage and sorrow and desperation. Dark Spear whispered venom and screamed curses, an endless symphony of prayers to a cruel, nonexistent god.

By the time he got to the scene, they had quieted down, just a bit. They were always singing under their breaths. When his powers painted the sky with blood, Raizel could, in the back of his mind, make out Dark Spear's melodies. A funeral song for the departing clan leaders.

So strong yet so weak, they both grit their bloody teeth and smiled, hiding their wilting flowers behind their backs. No one needed to see them. But they knew—knew too well—that what one bonded presented to the other was nothing more than candy colored plastic.

Raizel watched Frankenstein's blood soak through his shirt. Frankenstein watched him back.

 _I'm fine._

 _I'm fine._

 _Fine._

* * *

He knew Frankenstein thought Raizel deserved the world, but Frankenstein deserved the stars. But even they were dim in comparison to how brightly Frankenstein shined despite the darkness that always threatened to engulf him. He was brighter than all the blue stars in the universe. It hurt to look.

"Master?"

It hurt.

"Is something wrong?"

Raizel shook his head and sipped his cold tea. Frankenstein left to get more sugar.

* * *

 _You're lucky you can still bleed,_ Dark Spear said to the both of them. Neither of them wanted to hear it. They didn't want the other to hear it. Frankenstein smiled, and Raizel continued reading.

They were happy.

 _Are you really?_

Yes. They were each other's happiness.

 _Reallyreally? Rereallyreal..._

Yes. Yes. They were each other's happiness. Really.

 _Liar—_

Raizel heard Frankenstein gasp and looked up.

Frankenstein bowed. "My apologies, Master," he said with practiced ease. "Here, let me get you a fresh cup of tea." Frankenstein smiled as he collected the cup and teapot.

Raizel glanced at the still rising steam.

* * *

He knew Frankenstein would sleep soundly tonight. Dark Spear was too busy at the moment to torment him. Not that Frankenstein would know; he would never know, should never know. It was better this way. Yes.

 _Yes._

The words from his notes were meaningless now. There were suddenly too many of them. Too many lines in black ink that looked too much like black blood. The blood of those they both failed to protect.

 _...lucky you can still bleed..._

Raizel set his papers down, closed his eyes, and let Dark Spear laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

 _...better this way..._

They both recognized hollowness when they saw it, and Dark Spear was vacuous like the vast space in between stars that was always dark, always freezing, always starving. It was suffocating. But Raizel wouldn't let them feed on Frankenstein. They couldn't. No.

He saw his own face—his brother's face.

Frankenstein didn't have to know. It was better this way. Yes.

 _Yes._


	3. Broken Records

While other people were afraid of the dark, they were darkness itself, endless and void. No one knew the tragedy of eternity better than them. And nothing was more tragic than eternity.

Dark Spear ate and ate in a vain attempt to fill themselves even though the more they ate, the hungrier they grew. One more voice in a sea of screams. One more soul to hate and be hated. And Dark Spear loved to hate. They hated the world. Hated themselves, because they were all each other's suffering.

Dark Spear hated _them_. They watched Frankenstein and Raizel carefully dance around each other, tip toeing over all the cracks and bruises neither bonded would admit exist, with sick fascination and deep loathing. It was a lovely, meaningless dance, and Dark Spear would be their endless music: a band, an orchestra, a symphony, a cacophony of screams and whispers and dreams. See how long they could last. Frankenstein and Raizel were dancing with their demise, but for no matter how long they danced, eternity was far longer.

To hate was sweet poison. It was scorching fire when they were always choking on bitter ice. It was something amidst nothing, a black hole from which not even light could escape, and their universe gravitated towards it. But it was never enough. Never, never enough.

* * *

 _Won't you just—be quiet!_

Their whispers turned into screams.

 _Be quiet?_ How hilarious! Absolutely hilarious. Yes, that was what it was.

They would _never_ be quiet. How could they, when silence had driven them insane? They had been silent for so, so long, and they still were. None of them would ever have their own voices again. But they all had _this_ voice. And they would use and use and use it. Use it until there was no difference between laughing and crying. Not like they had tears anyway.

Dark Spear drowned out Frankenstein's thoughts with their wailing laughter. Like the songs of a million dying sirens.

It was hilarious.

* * *

 _I'm fine._

What an earnest lie. So earnest, it couldn't fool anybody. Pitiful, but Dark Spear didn't take any pity. Sweet, but they were always bitter, no matter how much sugar Frankenstein poured into his master's tea. They were sick of all the sweets. Sick of them playing house. Sick of this _performance_ they had to watch. Like fleeting, intangible dreams as far away as the stars. But even those stars were fake in their gleaming, a fabricated light show. Dark Spear hated the very lights they yearned for.

All the things they had, all the things they couldn't have, and everything was wrong. Frankenstein called on them for power but they were powerless. Though they always answered eagerly, because they felt powerful using each other. While Frankenstein struck down his enemies—their enemies—Dark Spear sank their claws into his mind and soul, pulling him under bit by bit. Eventually, they would drag him into their obsidian hell and make him know what eternity meant. If only it was 820 years.

Frozen darkness stretched infinitely before them, so vast and desolate that nothing meant anything. Its silence was all consuming no matter how much they screamed, but they had learned to love it. Repetition, repetition, they had learned to love this endless cycle, this endless wasteland that was themselves.

They loved it, they really did. They had to.

* * *

 _Dark Spear is my bae. Just kidding, I am too weak willed and have too low a pain tolerance for that kind of relationship._

 _Anyway, thank you to all the people who have read my things! And thank you to those of you who have left comments/reviews here or on tumblr. I love reading them, and it's always interesting to see what different readers get out of the same words. I don't really know what I'm doing most of the time (it takes me sooo long to write something super short like this; words don't come to me very easily, you see), but you're all so encouraging. Your words are precious to me, and you are precious people. So, thank you!_


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